


Transferred Assets

by HobbitSpaceCase



Series: HTP minifills [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: HYDRA Trash Party, M/M, Minific, Winter Soldier!Bucky, but still trash, kind of pretrash, non-con implied
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-21
Updated: 2015-11-21
Packaged: 2018-05-02 15:27:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5253380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HobbitSpaceCase/pseuds/HobbitSpaceCase
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Winter Soldier is the world's best assassin, and HYDRA's allies often have use for him.  Some of them point him at a target and give orders to kill.  </p><p>Then there's the ones who look at him and say, “Well, aren’t you pretty?”  The Winter Soldier is a ghost.  He is a warrior.  He is obedient.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Transferred Assets

“Well, aren’t you pretty?”  
  
“Negative.”  
  
Laughter follows the pronouncement, but the Asset is unperturbed. He has no mission today except to obey this stranger. Agreeing with obvious untruths is unnecessary.  
  
Leather shoes squeak against polished hardwood as the man draws closer. The Asset remains stock still as he is circled like prey. This small, loud man would be easy to kill. He would probably scream as he died.  
  
That is against mission parameters. For now.  
  
“Do you know my name?” the man asks.  
  
“Negative,” the Asset replies. “That information was deemed irrelevant.”  
  
The laughter returns, bubbling up from the man’s throat like blood. The Asset has a knife against his thigh that would slide perfectly between the man’s thin ribs. His fingers itch at the thought, but they do not twitch.  
  
The wood flooring would be much easier to clean than the rough stone of the walls.  
  
He has his mission. He will obey. He is still.  
  
“I’m deeming it relevant, now,” the man says. There is a smile at the corners of his mouth. The Asset does not see the point of smiling. This is a dreadfully dull mission so far.  
  
The man steps close to him, invading the Asset’s space as he speaks. “By the end of the night, you are going to be screaming the name Zemo.”  
  
The Asset knows an order when he hears one, even one as inexplicable as this. “Acknowledged.”  
  
The next order is much clearer, and also the first of the night to send a chill down the Asset’s spine.  
  
“Strip,” Zemo commands. “But leave the muzzle on.”


End file.
